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mk Nov 2014
she stands tall and frail, her hands like souls
her heart a maraca in a thunderstorm,
swears she could hear the frantic pounding
echoing off the courtroom walls.
sounds of paper crinkling and slicking against desks makes something in her soul cringe,
and she can smell the summer heat, choking and spicy,
almost as clear as the breath down her neck.

21, and she feels her world is ending.
grew up a little rich
compared to what her dealers were spending.
still, stuck without help,
without support for her affliction;
if only it wasn’t more than a serious addiction.

she could have gotten clean,
told her doctor and her lawyer,
if there had only been a law for her.
the judge wasn’t listening,
wasn’t taking her side,
and unfortunately, it wasn’t more than a matter of pride.

21, and a felony under her belt.
‘child endangerment’ the card she’d been dealt.
not saying it was right for her to go on,
but with not knowing she was pregnant, a line could be drawn.
not saying I know when a life should ‘begin,’
but charges shouldn’t be given based on your ‘sins.’

fetal harm laws seem to help time to time,
but with them these mothers’re told they’re part of a crime.
made to help and not hurt,
give a grieving parent their dues,
so why are they only giving mothers the blues?

tall and firm and college smart,
their collars as blue as their money.
the wood under their hands smoothed from use,
and to them,
the verdict seems funny.
mk Jun 2013
at first she watched the skeletons of rocks so intensely
that no one was shocked when her hopes were dashed upon them
she found she hated every word that slips between partially divided lips
most were lies anyway, cast in the vain search for love
not as if she believed that her truth and desire were around the corner
but it was nice to believe for a while
that hiding an ugly heart would reveal a patient mind

sometimes though, she gets so stuck,
so caught up in the inane mirage of being insane
a spoon of razor sharp edges and two tons of raw charcoal
were crucial to get rid of the feelings she'd no longer need
her funds were sent by way of broken pleas in somewhat dusks and
pale hands with veins so lust swollen that if pressed to a block of clay,
the imprint would surely stay frozen
mk Jun 2013
i've never been a talker
i am not one to ramble on,
sharing the details of your personal life and your experiences;
that, to me, is the most foreign concept

i'd like a talker though
someone to fill in the blank spaces
between my obnoxiously busy thoughts and self deprecation,
perhaps, for once, to make me want to share my hidden faces

it is like putting together a puzzle
we are all searching for that one piece,
a piece to fill in the fair amount of space we are born with.
we cram them in, desperately, bending the edges
so that they seem like they may fit

-but they do not and eventually that is what we must admit.
mk Jun 2013
the kind that punch deep in your stomach so violently that you're left with the pungent taste of bile in the driest corners of your mouth

the kind that leave lies behind, squeezing between your teeth in a slimy struggle to the open air. you could try stuffing them back inside, utilizing all of your strength and willpower but to no avail, they push their way through, infecting you with self-deprecation and loathing and the intense desire to please.

or it'll push back further toward the root of your throat and stuff you full of hatred until you're choking and can't take a single breath. no matter the case, words are dangerous, words are fire, and you could be a very regretful soul pitifully soon if one day you suddenly decide to trifle with them.

this love is not a game, but a battle, a war, and it is far too easy to get stuck on the losing side.
mk Jun 2013
one thousand and one percent of the time
i'm tapped out of rhythm and straining to rhyme
i make up impossible stories and wish they were mine
and since they aren't, sometimes, i think i'd rather die
than live in a world where second class citizens are people who
are more connected to their emotions than me and you
who can't love who they love and instead have to lie
to get a good job or a role in society

we act like being who you are is actually a crime, you see,
you must be the norm for your family to be proud
there isn't a place here for people who're loud
you've got to jump on the bandwagon and be part of the crowd
there are no OPINIONS if you're not rich, male or white
called bossy or cruel when you have a bit of a bite

it's wrong apologizing for our daughters when on the playground they rule
beg pardon for her inherited superior leadership tool
because we may not realize that this is a good thing,
we've become ignorant of stereotypes, they've been ingrained into our brains
and the sad part is, no matter how much time passes,
they are almost sure to remain,
for our sakes and our childrens', society needs to CHANGE.

OKAY HERE'S PART TWO BUT IT'S NOT DONE SO.... optional (i would write more of this but i gave up, never going to be finished basically and it's really bad and I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT)

thank god the media is finally beginning to see our ways as strange
yet we still indirectly promote [anorexia, bulimia], shove it down each other's throats
advertising is a thing we cannot afford to misquote,
we may see the greedy product givers but our children do not,
our girls and our boys, they are sneakily taught
that you cannot be content, cannot be happy on your own,
they need to do what others do, you must buy this to be good,
there is no way in this world that you ever could,
be empowered, successful and handsome at once, you must have perfect skin
and a nice weave to match,
your own hair is _, in public it falls flat
part one of spoken word rap thing that i wrote for my friend
mk Jun 2013
i hate myself in that resigned sort of way that it gets to the point where you don't care about anything. you'd rather destroy yourself all the way than go and fix up all those tiny little cracks that need stitching.

i'm sorry that i run away from you every time you tell me you need me and i'm sorry that when i come back i pretend like it's never happened, as if you didn't spill your soul to me and i never selfishly shied away.

you deserve someone better than me to speak with, someone better equipped to deal with everything. you need someone who wants life about all else, who can find beauty in everything and make sure that you are happy and help you. because, though i wish so much that i could, wish i knew how, i can't discourage you.

i agree with you in that aspect. suicide seems like such a beautifully promising escape and even embarrassingly now, i crave it. that is why it is so frustratingly hard to find reasons for you not to.

i'm sorry love i really really am and i can't seem to be able to put this any other way.
mk Jun 2013
trigger warning*

as a child, i looked at myself, all i saw was thin, spindly limbs paler than a sheet of printer's paper and dull, monotonous feature slipping down into a pool of other mundane looking girls, all the same with their tiresome talk of boys and clothes; all with their vapid and closed minded gossip. i wondered if i would be dragged down in the same way. i didn't and wasn't able to fathom that i was no different from any of the other insipid adolescents. it's wearisome and rather heartbreaking for a child to conceive that he or she is not unique and it is assuredly more frustrating for a parent or another type of bystander to witness. they try on most occasions. to make it clear that they understand what the innocent is going through; obvious that they've discerned the child's deepest thoughts and yet... yet they do nothing. it is simply a part of life, a predicament everyone finds themselves out. it occurs in everyone's own childhood. a chapter of a story that will promptly be closed, as hastily and early as it was opened. and then you go on.

i was never the type of child to simply leave a chapter after it was finished, finding it profoundly hard to not bask in the event and stay there. i wasn't sure that i wanted to know what came next. even now, i bookmark pages and wrinkle their carefully smooth skin with folds and scribbled and 'why?'s penciled in on the margins. i'll be halfway through i book i've read a time before and i can't find where i left off among the multitude of meticulously placed dog ears. i suppose that that is what i have done with my childhood. i placed too many bookmarks too precisely, unable to just move on from that line or verse of pretty prose, painting itself onto the too-warm surface of my aching heart, where it stayed sheltered until i felt like bringing it out again.

needless to say, it was very hard for me to admit to myself that i was not a unique individual, no matter how much i tried, and when i had convinced myself, though wrongly convinced myself, a little piece of me froze rather violently. i continued my entire young life assuming and believing that everyone is the same, that you are no different from the girls whose words bite and rip and tear at you. it is repeated repeated repeated that we are all the same inside. and sometimes you understand it another way than what was intended. or maybe you are told flat out. it is to be at the peak of despair and cynicism to trust that you are not special and be content with it. some lucky beings are born and raised being told that there is no one else that could fill their shoes, but even then, i have very rarely heard of someone simply skipping over a chapter when they feel like it. and this way, you will fail to learn things that could help you or teach you throughout your life, as hollow and inconsequential as it is. if you are always told that you are one of a kind, it is going to hit so much harder when that niggling doubt takes over and suddenly. you are not.

but that is wrong as well. no matter what you have been informed, no matter what you have gleaned and observed from everything around you, your parents and guardians, your role models and friends, the internet and the media, you are unique. you are so ******* special and different and perfect in your own way. you are strong and there is no reason to blame yourself. you do not, have not, and never will deserve all of the hatred and accusation you establish towards yourself. and it's really hard. it's really really hard. but there is a way for someone as wonderful as you and i think you can find it.

-i would find it funny how easily i weave back in and out of such a state of insanity if it were not so dangerous.
er this was a diary entry i wrote the day before i attempted suicide last year. yep.
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